Brink of Exhaustion
by yuneame
Summary: A collection of all that Gaara no Sabaku had learned throughout his life.
1. Power

A/N: A memoir containing stories of varying lengths. I hope I will actually get somewhere with this.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Naruto, it would have ended by now.

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><p>The first time Gaara, jinchuuriki of the one-tailed Shukaku, steps outside his home village, he learns of true power.<p>

Gaara never set foot in the deserts beyond Suna's towering walls. He had only heard of them, their greatness as a defense mechanism, the difficulties with isolation; of the foolish shinobi who've died trekking through the barren wastelands. He does not feel intimidated in the least when, flanked by Temari and Kankuro, they walk through a rip in the massive wall like ants through cracks of soil. He does not anticipate.

They told him sunset was the best time to set out - for the desert was merciless during the day - and he understands perfectly with the first nerve-prickling gust of heat blasting their faces. He places one foot outside Suna and stills.

Vaguely, he notices his siblings continuing without him and he cannot care less. The desert. The _desert_. How could he not have known? Its vastness, its glory, all is awe-inducing. For once in his life he would willingly bow down and kiss the earth for its beauty. Of course Suna fears him! He _owns_ them.

He walks blithely now, confident in every movement, and stomps his foot. The ground beneath him rumbles as the sea of sand mimics ocean waves. Two figures, dark against the sun, turn when the small earthquake disturbs them.

_They are far ahead. _Gaara raises his arms, laughing in his mind only because he has forgotten how physically._ Come closer..._ And with a pull, they are dragged to his side, planted flat in the sand. The blonde raises her head, spluttering.

"Gaara!" She snaps angrily before biting her lip and falling silent. There are guards yelling above them, pointing, but he pays them no mind. In a smooth sweeping motion, he wipes away Temari and Kakurou's offending tracks and heads out into the endless golden horizon.

_I belong here._ As if agreeing, the gourd hums on his back.

They will call him Gaara of the Desert, and he will be proud.


	2. Mother

**A/N: This story makes work more bearable. **

**(Insert disclaimer, adurrblahblah.)**

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><p>There was a time when he feared its gravelly whispers. He succumbed to the monster's bloodlust and slept, once slaughtering two families and ten patrol shinobi. The life of women and children were absorbed in his sand, the only sin they had committed being they were too close, too unfortunate.<p>

There was a time when Gaara feared himself.

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><p>It was the same... the feeling of a mother's gentle hands warming his thin shoulders and the feeling of thick black blood crusted between the cracks of his fingers. One moment he saw her smiling at him, pushing crimson hair off his sweat-covered forehead - and in the next, her face was an ugly, cruel thing screaming for crushed skulls and skewered intestines.<p>

He did not understand. What did her smiles mean? Did they reflect that of an ideal mother, one who smiled because she loved and cared, or that of a demon who smiled to encourage hatred? The voice that saturated his mind with its gritty, scraping texture was too deep to be hers. But it was her face that spoke.

Many days - most those when the Kazekage, his father, would lock him in the room because Gaara had rampaged and killed too many - for many days, he would glare at the photograph on the dresser. The frame was old, chipped like the wooden surface it sat on, but gleamed with a care that was eventually neglected. Sand sometimes swiped the glass surface protecting the image, leaving smudged trails of dust.

His mother's face was mild. Normal, no distinguishing features - she was neither outstanding nor failing in looks. He would miss her, Gaara thought, if she had been on the common streets.

Was it love and affection that made a mother beautiful? He had never known.

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><p>He began to refer to the demon as Mother. Just uttering the word made Gaara sick to the stomach - he would retch dryly but the pain was much deeper, not physical, and never dispelled. The woman's brother had been a filthy traitor, but the man's spite helped him understand.<p>

Even if she had been the heartless, unfortunate one to bear him life, even if she despised the village and all it's people, despised _him_... calling the sadistic tailed-beast 'Mother' was a compliment, however twisted.

Calling it Mother, he learned, made her good.


End file.
